[In the early morning of July 1st, just as the shit is hitting the proverbial fan Ingress-wise, Shepard's TAB stops bouncing messages back to senders with an !!!ERROR!!! code, and starts actually sending them through!

Not that there's any immediate replies. But it is the day she said she'd be out. And true to form — it looks like someone is, at least digitally, back. After some time, it might even achieve a little ✓ SEEN mark, since she has that feature turned on, apparently.

Maybe if you send more texts.]

2. EVERYBODY SAYS THAT I GOTTA GET A GRIP [ACTION @ INGRESS COMPLEX]

[Maybe you're the kind of person that isn't satisfied with just simple messages via the TAB not being answered in a timely fashion. Maybe you just really want to bang on someone's door! Well, hey! The directory says Jane Shepard lives at Apartment #019, and that's just down there! Why not knock on her door and a chat with the overly-friendly VI that organizes her apartment's intelligent systems!

It's not letting you in, though. And the technology for the apartment's security is... notably more advanced than the other blocks. Weird. Guess you'll have to wait until she lets you in.

She can hear herself screaming before she's awake, sweat pricking from every pore, heart racing at a speed as to be physically uncomfortable. She can feel herself shaking, hands wrenching the tangled blankets off her limbs, balling them up in her fists. Half-crumpling against the bed's headboard, she fumbles mentally at practiced techniques for smoothing the stress out of her system. Closing her eyes, she focuses on her erratic breath, feeling the air hiccough out of her in frantic, frenetic little bursts — until eventually, it starts to slow, tripping only on the sudden occasional shivery inhale.

Were you there before she woke? Immediately after, summoned by the sudden sounds? Or are you pattering in now, watching her stare at the search results for SLEEPING PILLS DREAMLESS?]

#. SOME PEOPLE PAY FOR THRILLS; BUT I GET MINE FOR FREE

[Hit me up @ nijikai or via PM if you want to hit up some CR but want something else! I'm easy like Sunday morning. :D]

no subject

[Losing TAB turned out to be more problematic than J could have ever thought. Only after few hours she had realized for a first time how dependent had she become of the thing, almost as if everything was surrounded around this stupid network. While getting a new one hadn't been exactly difficult, it was a bummer to see that there none of her previous messages and such hadn't been transferred to her new device. Well, it's nothing she can't live with.

But that also means she misses it completely when Shepard's TAB switches to online. So, being unaware of her return, J comes back to their shared apartment after shopping. Holding a bag of groceries in her hand while going through TAB's network with the other one she pushes the door open.]

Did I leave the lights on?-- [She first mumbles to herself once she's inside. But she pauses, jaw dropping slightly when she sees Shepard of all people in the living room.]

no subject

For her part, Shepard just stares at J, expression as close to neutral as is feasibly possible for a person's face to be. Just below the swathe of blankets at her chest is a slight movement, barely perceptible.

The whole image, taken together, reminds you somewhat of a cornered wild animal.

After an extended pause, Shepard takes a careful breath, and licks her lips.]

3333333333

[One advantage of trying to monitor the entire network in your spare time? Noticing pretty quickly when certain IDs come back online. Not that Rinzler bothers sending any messages of his own. That would delay his actual arriving.

He still doesn't make it until after she's asleep. And, as it happens, just before she starts screaming. Rinzler advances a half-step, lagged and uncertain—and then Shepard closes the decision gate herself. The vulnerability that follows is prolonged and telling, and not, in the enforcer's estimation, anything she'd want assistance with. (Not any assistance he could give, at least—comfort isn't a function Rinzler has had any success attempting previously.)

Still, once Shepard calms herself enough to notice her surroundings, she might hear a soft ticking rumble filtering through the background. The points of lights defining its source aren't far away.]

RINZLER NO

[It's just as she's starting to calm that she senses-- hears the sound, both familiar and foreign, comforting and terrifying. Her breathing catching on itself is the only warning Rinzler gets before he's lifted, bodily, and pinned against the ceiling with a slam that would wind almost any organic.

In the ethereal blue light, Shepard examines her interloper, face etched with exhaustion and something else, almost unreadable in its strangeness.

Breath coming out in uneven huffs, she unwinds a sheet from her leg with her free hand, watching the Program. Barely above a whisper, and wholly to herself:]

Rinzler.

[And just as suddenly, he's being lowered. Not dropped — if he'd come to kill her, she'd already be dead. She'd trust him, regardless of which reality this was.]

3!

[ It'd been fitful sleep when Nihlus had first peered into the room. He left her to it then, setting the hamster cage down back atop its stand before floating around the house, preparing food and cleaning in between.

Just as he finishes frying up some French toast, the screaming starts.

Casting a quiet glance over his shoulder, Nihlus switches the heat off and slips the two buttered slabs onto a plate. Somewhat distantly, he notes the sounds are different this time. Makes a mental note to install more padding on the bed as he pools a bit of jam onto the side.

She will hear a knock on the door shortly after waking up- and then a soft; ]

2.

[Shepard's TAB is now functional, no longer barred to them. But it is, for the most part, silent. And that is approximately when the leaden weight settles in the pit of their stomach, twisted into a wet towel that refuses to abate the clenching, boiling tension in their organs.

The directory accordingly directs them to the apartment number necessary, at which point they begin to knock. And knock. And knock.

Open up, Shepard, before they try cutting a child-sized square into the door like someone out of a bad spy thriller.]

no subject

At the first sound of knuckles on the door, she's alert, a blast of adrenaline steadily dumping itself into her systems.

She's back — the room was bare, she was in her alcove, and they were here again, picking her up for another round of "mediation". Group sessions. Talks. Questions. The clock was broken again. Was it another dream? She'd just--

Was this just another dream?

The knocks keep happening. Why don't they just come in? She doesn't have a handle on this side. Shrinking away from the sound, she bundles back against the headboard until her hand hits on-- the TAB?

Lighting it up in her hands, she stares at it mistrustfully, taking in the time, the date, the location. That's right — she's out.

Maybe.

A moment later, the apartment intercom lights up outside. It's on, and listening — but no one is speaking.]

3... no 2...! could it be... #

[The music faded more and more the longer he was here. Cole knows the people around him need help, but it's not because he hears them any more. It is just the way things are! People need help, and he can help, but it's not so easy to know when they need help any more. It's only when the hurt is still ragged and bleeding that it sings.

He's not sure how he ended up at this apartment, only that one moment he was going somewhere with a purpose and then the purpose became being here.

Because the song is loud enough he can make out every agonized note.

Without thinking, he brings himself inside, his curled up body appearing on her coffee table. This is when he remembers the conversations he's had with Solas, and Neriel, and Varric, that private space is where you don't normally go and you should ask. It isn't the first time the concept's been explained to him, just the first time he actually understood. So when he sees Shepard curled up on the couch, his face burns red, and he gets out a quick]

Sorry!

[before teleporting back out. This time, he knocks on the door insistently, determined to get inside and help the right way. He hopes it isn't too late to start out on a good foot. If only he could still make them forget.]

WHAT'S WRONG WITH YOU PEOPLE

It's only her time in lock-up that saves Cole: rusty with the pull, there's a mass-accelerated microslug buried in the middle of the table he'd been present on nanoseconds before. Swearing, she throws off her blanket, blue energy jumping to life in her offhand.

There's a knock at the door.

Stomping to the entrance hall, she hammers the button to open the door with her fist, flipping off the safety on her pistol.

The second the door slides open, Cole's got a gun leveled mere centimeters from his left eye.]

2

[The fact that Shepard's TAB has, for all intents and purposes, gone back to 'available' status doesn't go unnoticed to 76. Her parting message had been alarming, to say the least, but she also hadn't given him means to investigate further. 76 had let it slide, much to his chagrin, figuring that she's perfectly capable of taking care of herself, and that she'd resurface eventually.

Presumably, this is that resurgence, though when he sends her a quick message, it's clear she's ignoring it.

76 knows he should leave well enough alone--he'd probably want to be left alone, but given recent events, it's difficult to ignore this. That's what has him seeking her out in person, finding her apartment and knocking on the door.

And knocking, and knocking. He isn't going to take no for an answer, not until he finds out what's going on.]

NO ONE'S HOME!!!

[An extended groan comes out from under a pile of pillows. Persistence. It was something the intermediaries had particularly prided themselves on. Persistent in the face of adversity to helpfulness. They were there to help.

So why didn't these ones just come in? She had no handle on this side of the cell, and god knew she had no way to keep them out. Not that she'd try to, in any case — she was trying to stay on her best behavior. Not that it had worked. Her smallest comments were her biggest transgressions, the biggest errors in judgment. There had never been any hope of early release.

The knocking keeps going. Maybe it was a new technique? To... meditate better by? To test how far gone she can go, how to reveal the last, final strongholds of her determination? Maybe it was Anderson again. Maybe it was her mother, this time. Because wasn't everyone just so disappointed.

There was nothing for it. Flipping off her blanket, her pillows, she shakily pushes herself up. She'd have to--

The space that fades in around her is not the Mediation Centre cell. It's her own apartment. Which meant the door...

Outside, the apartment intercom clicks on, a bright blue light winking into existence above the speaker. The ever-friendly apartment VI helpfully informs you of its active status with the encouraging suggestion to "use your sunniest voice!". On its own, the intercom is silent, save for the barely-audible susurrus of fabric on fabric.]

2

[Of course he's here. Of course he's bouncing in, tearing around a corner as fast as his holo can run. He'd have come as himself, but the Ingress Complex doesn't exactly hold up well to fifteen foot robots running through its halls. So here he is, charging along. He may have slipped once or twice, and careened into a wall, but oh well.]

[✓ SEEN]

[She's back. It's got to mean that.]

[But maybe knocking on the door like a panicked kid trying to get into his parents' room isn't the best idea. Still, there he is. There he goes.]

no subject

[Unlike other knocks, this one is accompanied by a voice. Distant, muffled... familiar.

It's enough to make her straighten up with a start from her dozing position on the couch, looking around for the source. It's coming from her door. It's also coming from her TAB, and the intelligent security wired into it, announcing one (1) new guest.

The security camera application on her TAB pops into its holoscreen, and displays a familiar redhead for her.

Sideswipe.

I promise.

Without another thought, she's reaching forward, tapping a few keys on the screen, and pressing CONFIRM.

1

[They've only spoken a few times, but when they did, it felt like speaking to an old friend. Someone easy to talk to. Who knew about space and having to fight... but she hadn't been around lately. Not on the network, not in the streets.]

[It's a little concerning. Especially after losing one of their team. Especially after the thing with the blob and the fog.]

[It doesn't hurt to check, right?]

Hey, Commander. It's Shiro.I haven't seen you around in a while, so I thought I'd check in.See if everything's all right on your end.

[Ha ha. But hey. Maybe she's just been busy. Maybe this is nothing to worry about.]

1 - text

[ On and off, like some others, Bull had been trying to reach her, to no success. It'd been getting to be about that time, the time where he'd send off a text every couple of days. Today however wasn't like the rest. And now with the unexpected darkness settling over every inch of the planet, that he knew, what better time than now to try again. ]

no subject

[As soon as she's put the TAB back down, it lights up, and pings again. And again. Her reach back for it is reflexive — then stops, cringing away consciously. Mute it. Leave it. Nobody needed an answer.

The TAB pings again.

What had the intermediaries said? What everyone had said?

Ping.

"Exemplary leadership".

Ping.

Terrible person.

Ping.

No answer, at least, clearly wasn't going to fly. Rolling over, she slowly pulls the TAB closer again, examining the messages as she flips open its holoscreen, and slowly taps out a reply.

guess who's coming 2 dinner

[He's outside Shepard's door for a good while--maybe twenty minutes?--trying to decide if this is really what he wants to be doing. He doesn't even knock for a time, he's too preoccupied with own thoughts.

He was secure, until now. He was at peace. He hadn't understood himself, and then the intermediaries had shown him who he was. And who he was was a monster If they were wrong, he didn't know what to do with himself. He had no direction. He was hopeless lost.

But if there are things he's missing, then he has to investigate them. They hadn't squeezed that out of him They hadn't told him not to pursue this. Wasn't this his duty, if he wanted to follow in their footsteps? If he wanted to help others the way the intermediaries had helped him?

He was cowed at peace. Chara was not. According to Chara, Shepard was not. He needs to find out why. Maybe he can help them both, knowing what he does about the Savrii, knowing what he does about the non-Savrii. Somewhere, there's a miscommunication. It's up to him to resolve it.

NOBODYS HOME

[She's on the couch, fading in and out of reality (a dream? no.) when she hears the knock. It's without urgency, solid, and moreover: a knock. Bizarre, in its own anachronistic way.

It's harder to brush away the dust, clear away the fading reality-- dream-- this one, a haunting re-enactment of her supposed trespasses against Chara. As real as real could be, but not hers. Another insert, centerfold, courtesy of the mediation center and its machinations. At the knock, she rouses, eyes flitting open, staring at the ceiling.

People kept coming. That, she supposed, was good — no matter how it felt. It meant she was alive. Cared for. Believed. That she wasn't-- alone, wandering in corridor, each door locked, each door hiding someone she knew, someone screaming out for help, but there was no handle, no way to open it, and she, no key-- on her own.

Snapping out of the memory, she sits up, straightening her rumpled clothes. She could be adult enough to open her own damn door.

Who knocks, anyways? The thought drifts across her mind, unbidden, as she drags herself to the door, bare feet padding quietly across the carpeted surface, finally keying the door open.]

Lavellan.

[She could be adult enough to take this, too. He was probably wondering when Normandy would open properly again — and with good reason.

Or was it?

Somehow, something about his demeanor, his presentation — something, even in the strong current of waves and eddies in her mind, was off. Badly.]